


to grasp at stars (and lie the earth beneath)

by ShatterinSeconds



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Cuban Lance (Voltron), Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gay Keith (Voltron), Getting Together, Japanese Keith (Voltron), M/M, Vampire Keith (Voltron), Witch Lance (Voltron), they're married in the present timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-01-15 19:56:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21258779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShatterinSeconds/pseuds/ShatterinSeconds
Summary: “I missed you.” Keith’s words break through the flow of thoughts in Lance’s mind--a sudden breath of fresh air unexpectedly batting Lance in the face.The corners of Lance’s eyes crinkle. “Yeah?”“Mm.” Keith’s finger circles the top of his glass, ice cubes clinking together. “It’s boring on my own.”“Is that why you invited me here?” Lance arches an eyebrow; he has never seen the vampire quite so hesitant before. Never this vague.“We keep letting too much time pass us by,” Keith begins with an explanation but leaves too much dead space between his thoughts that Lance has to fill in.“I have a feeling this is more than a little reunion.”(or a story about two immortals finding each other over and over again)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I finished this just in time for Halloween!!! 
> 
> I feel like this fic has a little bit of Good Omens vibes and a little bit of Shadowhunter Chronicles vibes (did I very lowkey patten Lance after Magnus Bane… perhaps). Also please ignore any anachronisms; sometimes you just gotta roll with it!
> 
> Hope you all enjoy:)

* * *

_ We only get the one life _

* * *

**Boston, Massachusetts 2020**

Keith is beautiful; there’s no other way to describe it. Moonlight paints his pale skin a sterling silver and glitters in his inky hair, emulating the stars, as he leans his head against the window. He casually plays with the necklace around his neck and probably doesn’t realize he has started to do it. Having wandered closer to the vampire, Lance brushes back a lock of hair to see Keith’s eyes clearly.

“It’s late,” Lance comments. 

“I know,” Keith says, too quiet to be attentively listening to Lance and half his face remains smushed up against the glass. 

Lance tries again. “We have to work the shop tomorrow.” 

“I know.”

Crossing his arms, Lance releases an annoyed sigh. Because he’s kind of tired and it’s approaching 1 am, and when you have a business to run in the morning, there’s nothing better than getting a good night’s sleep by using your spouse as a pillow. “You know, you’re a vampire, not a night owl.”

Keith finally swings his gaze away from the window. “Mm, no I kinda am. Up all night; I eat rats--”

Lance scrunches his nose. “Well not anymore.”

“Still do; you just get too grossed out and pretend it doesn’t happen.”

“Excuse me for not wanting to kiss lips covered in rat germs.”

“I wash up afterwards!” Keith exclaims, finger poking Lance’s chest.

“Uh _ yeah _,” Lance grunts, “Only because we both know I’d divorce your ass if you didn’t.”

“Why is it,” Keith begins as he stands from the window bench. His arms hang over Lance’s shoulders and he leans in dangerously close but Lance remains impassive, “that a four hundred year old witch can still be grossed out by the littlest things?”

Lance’s lips twitch as he rests his forehead on Keith’s. “Only if you tell me why a vampire who has access to all the blood bags he could ever desire still likes to eat rats as a midnight snack?”

“Sometimes old habits never die.” Then Keith grins. “They’re pretty tasty too.”

“You’re gross, _ cariño _.”

Keith pats Lance’s cheek and begins to walk away. “Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment and you know it!” Lance calls out to Keith’s retreating back. His pajama bottoms hang low on his hips and Lance tries not to stare… _ tries. _Crawling into their bed, Keith faces Lance again and sticks out his tongue. 

“Come on, it’s getting late and we have work tomorrow,” Keith mocks Lance’s earlier statement. 

Lance sucks in an annoyed breath. “You, you, just stop talking.”

Keith gazes at him wide eyed and innocent and tilts his head to the side. “So you don’t want to cuddle then?” He fakes a yawn, hand covering his exaggeratedly wide open mouth, exposed fangs peeking out through the spaces of his fingers. Too damn _ cute. _“I am kind of sleepy.”

“I hate you so much,” Lance says as he launches himself into the bed and tackles Keith to, best case scenario, smother him.

* * *

**Paris, France 1992**

Lance balks when he sees Keith walking into the restaurant they agreed to meet at. Cropped leather jacket, tight pants, combat boots, fingerless gloves, hair cut and curling just above his shoulders. “My god, how long were you in America during the last decade?” Lance calls out in lieu of a proper greeting.

Keith rolls his eyes. “Why do you care?”

“Your clothes, your _ hair. _What is this?” Lance gestures to all of him. Those boots even out their inch or so height difference and Lance isn’t sure how he feels about that.

“I don’t know. I kinda liked it.” He looks down as if he has forgotten what he decided to wear that morning before his gaze returns to Lance. “Is it really that bad?” Keith questions with a smirk on his lips, spying Lance’s appalled expression. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to be insulted. 

Lance taps his chin as his eyebrows furrow in mock thought. “Well maybe if you would use a comb once in a while.” While Lance speaks, his fingers card through Keith’s hair, smoothing down the locks and quickly working through any tangles he encounters. He brushes those long bangs away from his eyes only for them to fall back to the same place. It’s still as soft as it always has been, not as long but definitely just as beautiful.

“Since I have manners, I’m going to say that you look nice today and leave it at that.” Keith tugs playfully at the collar of Lance’s button down shirt.

Lance sticks out his tongue like an annoyed five year old, and he pulls out Keith’s chair because he is a gentleman.

Before he met Keith, there had been a few flings, courtships, whatever the new term was now, but they all ended in heartbreak as one participant was immortal and the other was not. In the mid-1700s, Lance once came close to marrying a woman before he brought himself out of the fantasy that he could have a normal life.

Maybe it’ll be different this time, he had thought naively, as he became too caught up in the way her eyes glittered whenever she spoke, her vibrant laugh. But it wasn’t different. He had to leave her before it got to be too much. 

Keith is the only one who continues to pop up again in Lance’s life, no matter how many years pass. No matter how much the world changes, or how much it has already changed, Keith is a brilliant constant. 

Except for the fact that they keep having to part ways, Keith not being one for a stationary life. They stayed with each other for a few years after they met up again during the late twenties, but their wants led in different directions, to different countries. 

“I missed you.” Keith’s words break through the flow of thoughts in Lance’s mind--a sudden breath of fresh air unexpectedly batting Lance in the face.

The corners of Lance’s eyes crinkle. “Yeah?”

“Mm.” Keith’s finger circles the top of his glass, ice cubes clinking together. “It’s boring on my own.”

“Is that why you invited me here?” Lance arches an eyebrow--he has never seen the vampire quite so hesitant before. Never this vague. 

“We keep letting too much time pass us by,” Keith begins with an explanation but leaves too much dead space between his thoughts that Lance has to fill in. His leg jitters under the table; the water in his glass wobbles.

“I have a feeling this is more than a little reunion.”

“Yeah,” Keith replies, fingers now drumming on the table to calm his nerves. His hands don’t want to sit still today, and it has Lance’s mind racing at the possibilities of just what is on Keith’s mind.

He reaches out across the table to lay his hand on top of Keith’s, stopping the erratic motion and allowing Keith to play with his hand to work through those nerves instead. “Am I supposed to guess… because I am great at charades.”

“I’m staying, permanently this time. With you,” Keith says in one giant gush, not even taking the time to blink, then hastily tacks on, “If that’s what you want, of course.”

Lance doesn’t feel the tears of relief cascading down his face until Keith flicks them away with his thumb, and Lance leans into his touch. “Really?”

“I’m here to stay,” Keith confirms.

Lance covers Keith’s hand resting on his cheek with his own, moving it so he can kiss Keith’s palm--happy tears continue to prick at his eyes. “_ Thank you. _” 

* * *

**Boston, Massachusetts 2020**

The bathroom mirror is fogged from Lance’s morning shower and Keith had drawn a wobbling smiley face to greet him. With steam obscuring the area around him, Lance extracts the remaining water from the air with a quick spell, letting it splash down into the sink. The bathroom drops a few degrees, a pleasant chill. He begins to dry his hair, watching himself in the now clear mirror when there’s a knock on the door. 

“You decent?” Keith’s voice slides through the cracks.

“Depends on your definition. If you want a show...”

He can _ hear _Keith rolling his eyes on the other side. “I’m coming in.” 

Keith has his hair french braided for the day--Lance’s handiwork--but with his thick bangs pulled back, it allows his glare to be sent in full force. He stands in the open doorway, arms crossed with his dark clothes molding perfectly to his body, before he walks forward with determination. His hands glide up Lance’s bare chest until he is able to cup Lance’s face in his palms and draw him forward into a biting kiss. 

Lance’s eyes flash when Keith breaks the kiss to speak. “You used the bodywash I like.”

“If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you’re a split second away from jumping me right now.” He can feel Keith’s hands flat against his lower back now, fingers so close to dipping under the towel on his hips. 

“Unfortunately for you,” Keith says, “You took too long in the shower and we have to open the store.”

“What a shame.” Lance steals another kiss as his hands rest on cold patches of Keith’s skin under his shirt.

“I actually came in here for deodorant.”

Lance pulls back entirely, a dangerous grin on his face. “Gotta get through me first.” Sparks lightly dance on the tips of his fingers, shocking Keith. The vampire doesn’t even pretend to be affected by them.

“Not even a challenge.” Without warning, Keith picks Lance up as if he weighs nothing more than a feather and deposits him out of the way. 

Lance pouts, foot tapping angrily on the tile. “Stupid vampire strength.”

Keith gazes back over his shoulder as he reaches into the medicine cabinet. “You weren’t complaining yesterday.”

“Because I sure as hell wasn’t gonna carry those heavy boxes or waste magic levitating them.”

“See, you do appreciate me.” He smirks as he passes Lance by, ruffling his drying hair into a fluffy mess. “You’re going to be late if you don’t get ready.”

“If _ you _didn’t distract me, I’d be dressed.”

Keith shakes his head. “It’s your fault for being so damn alluring and using _ that _bodywash.”

“Now that is how you compliment someone,” Lance says with a haughty smile and closes the door in Keith’s face.

When Lance finally makes his way down from their apartment, Keith lights a few candles and a waft of cinnamon fills the air. It mixes with other aromas from drying herbs hanging underneath a few shelves. It's the smell of home; Lance is glad he has finally found it again.

He straightens out the basket of crystals by the register, making sure every side catches sunlight, a perfect way to attract buyers. The beams of light are temporarily interrupted as Keith walks around the store to double check everything for the upcoming selling week. Wisps of hair that have escaped his braid are stained gold. Sometimes, especially in moments like these, it’s easy to forget that Keith is actually a vampire. The silver chain with an old sun charm glimmers every time he passes one of the large storefront windows. 

Placing his elbow on the counter, Lance props up his head in his hand, watching the sight before him. 

“What?” Keith asks with a quick, exasperated huff when he catches Lance’s stare.

“You’re beautiful.”

“And you’re ridiculous,” Keith says, walking up to the counter, “I know you stalled upstairs so you didn’t have to do inventory.”

Lance gasps at the accusation, standing up straight now. “You have no proof.”

Not impressed with his acting skills, Keith arches an eyebrow. “I _ know _you.”

“Well,” Lance says, “You’ve got me there.”

* * *

**New York City, New York 1928**

“You again?” Lance teases before a more serious, lopsided smile appears on his face. “I’m glad to see you finally saved yourself.” The red ring around Keith’s eyes has vanished, and seeing some color in his cheeks, Lance realizes Keith probably fed recently as well. He looks... happy, healthy. It has Lance smiling like an idiot.

It’s been thirty odd years since they first met and last saw each other. As much as he wanted to keep tabs on his new friend, he woke up one gloomy London day to discover the area Keith usually lurked to be vacant and hoped that was a positive sign and not a dreadful one. 

During the turn of the century, Lance had left Europe for America, if only to be a little closer to his original home. He set up a small business near his apartment in Manhattan and considered it a good time to remain stationary, though he can already sense something coming--dark with a choking aura looming on the horizon; his divination spells have been too vague lately. 

“Yeah,” Keith agrees, “I’m glad I got past it too.”

“You look… decent,” Lance says, his eyes skirting up and down Keith’s body. Gone permanently are his rags of the Victorian slums and in place is a finely tailored, well worn three piece suit, dark material gracing his body. His hair breaks the image of sophistication however; it’s has remained long and rather wild but is contained by a strip of red ribbon.

Keith tugs on Lance’s coat, fingers flicking the buttons, amused glint in his eyes. “And you look wealthy.”

“Everyone’s willing to pay a price for magic.” Lance shrugs unapologetically. “Money is fun.” He has gained and lost fortunes throughout the centuries, and he knows the twentieth will be no different. Despite his immortality, he has learned to live each day as if it’s his last, not immune to the shifting society of mortals.

A hand moves to brush a lock of hair off of Lance’s forehead before it traces the side of his face with a gentle touch--Lance is glad no one is around to witness the act. “It suits you.”

When Keith’s cold fingers fall from his face, Lance’s heart beats again, a small soft smile alighting his features as he clasps Keith’s hand. He ushers Keith over to an awaiting bench and asks, “Tell me honestly, has this all been a coincidence or did you seek me out?”

Keith swings his gaze away, as if his intentions have been revealed. “A little of both,” he admits truthfully. “I heard rumors about you in America, and I figured it was time for a change of scenery.”

Keith, Lance soon finds out, had gone back to Japan a decade or so ago to see how it all had changed. It didn’t feel like home anymore, Keith eventually says, and Lance knows all too well how that feels. 

At one point during their reunion, Lance regretfully retracts his hand when a few mortals walk by; they spare the two no glance, but despite the fact that Lance is a witch, he knows not to take any chances. His voice drops to a whisper. “I know a mundane place both of us can go dancing, drinking… if you would like to accompany me.”

“I thought I was the one who was supposed to treat you to an outing.” 

Lance smiles with a wink. “Next time, for sure.” He may not know when it will occur, but he does know there will be a _ next time. _

Keith ducks his head in agreement. “If you insist.”

“You know,” Keith says when they step into the club, his eyes skirting over everything, not staying in one spot for too long. “I’m not much of a dancer.”

The lighting in the club is poor, a few exposed bulbs overhead to illuminate the entire room, but unadulterated joy fills the space anyways. Wooden floorboards creak under their feet and music sings in their ears. It’s old; it’s quaint; it’s secret. It’s perfect.

“Don’t fret; I know enough for the both of us.” Lance holds out his hand as someone switches records on the gramophone.

They walk to the dance floor, seamlessly working their way into the group of mortal men as everyone finds a partner to dance with. Lance grins as he drags Keith around the dance floor, quite humored by a graceful vampire stumbling over his shoes like a baby fawn. Keith laughs at his own folly.

“You’re actually _ terrible _,” Lance needs to comment on the obvious.

A glare is sent his way. “What point of ‘I do not know how to dance’ did not get through your thick head?”

“I thought you were being modest,” Lance replies honestly, “But you’re awful; this is _ fantastic _.”

“I’m glad you’re amused.”

“You’re such a delight to be with,” Lance says, eyes wide, “And I mean that in the least sarcastic way possible.”

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Keith mutters with a short laugh.

Lance shakes his head with a grin. “You’re already dead, love.” He spins them around when the beat of the music calls for it, cutting off any response Keith may have. 

When they come to a stop, Lance wobbles for a second before he regains his bearings, having to stabilize his vision on the vampire. If Keith’s skin could flush naturally, Lance knows he’d be red from the exercise. His head falls onto Lance’s shoulders to catch a breath he doesn’t need.

“We--I need fresh air,” Lance says, chest heaving from the exertion. 

Once they step over the threshold and the door swings shut behind them, the music abruptly cuts off but his hand still taps to the rhythm. The sweet nighttime atmosphere hits Lance immediately, cooling his flaming skin, and street lights blaze a block over. White freckles litter the dark sky. 

Now outside the club, Lance stalls an inevitable parting, feet shuffling back and forth on the ground, and unashamedly stares at Keith. 

“What?” the vampire asks with a tilt of his head. “Has too much blood rushed to your head?”

Walking forward, Lance chuckles. He reaches up without a word and his hands work at the back of Keith’s hair until the ribbon falls into his waiting palm. Keith’s hair cascades to his shoulders, spilling over slightly. Lance remembers running his fingers through it back then and revels at the idea to be able to do it again now.

“Lance,” Keith says quietly, licking his lips as his gaze holds steady. They’re an inch from each other. “What are you doing?”

“I've longed to kiss you.”

“Yeah, _ yeah _,” Keith replies quickly, excitedly. His hands rest on Lance’s hips; each point of pressure ignites something inside of him. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

Lance kisses him under the moonlight for the first time and then parts for a breath before he does it again and again and again.

* * *

**Boston, Massachusetts 2020**

Keith’s fangs pierce the skin of Lance’s neck, and he sucks in a deep breath. Eyes rolling back, the euphoria sets in, back arching, breath stuttering. Lance’s hands find purchase in Keith’s hair as he wraps the long locks around his fingers to retain some grasp on reality. Lance sits in Keith’s lap, his legs wrapped around the vampire’s waist, and Keith grips Lance’s shirt, wrinkling the material the more he drinks. A moan buzzes across Lance’s skin.

It’s like wildfire. 

Lance doesn’t allow Keith to drink from him often, not certain, even after some three hundred odd years, if his immortality would prevent an addiction to vampire venom. But it’s so damn good when he allows himself to cave once in a blue moon and Keith actually agrees. It had taken many hours of convincing the first time--well, not the _ first _first time which got nowhere, but the first time Lance offered since they officially started dating--and now Keith won’t hesitate with his response. 

They’re both drunk off of each other and it’s beautiful.

Keith’s hands slide up the length of Lance’s back, resting near the base of his neck where Keith’s fingers begin to play with the ends of Lance’s hair. A flutter of a touch to Lance’s half dazed mind--and that’s when he knows they’re reaching the limit. 

Attuned to Lance, Keith retracts his teeth before Lance has the chance to tap out. The world snaps back into focus, leaving Lance breathless. Kissing the wound, Keith begins to trail more apology kisses up Lance’s neck before he reaches Lance’s lips. Lance smiles against his mouth, hands cupping Keith’s face. 

“You okay?” Lance asks, brushing his long bangs away from Keith’s face to see those dazzling eyes. 

“I should be asking you that,” Keith replies, laying his fingers over the already healing puncture marks on Lance’s neck. A bit of blood still stains his lips, and Lance wipes the evidence away with his thumb, letting it rest on Keith’s lower lip for a moment.

With fresh blood coursing through his system, Keith’s skin is warm to the touch now, a healthy glow appearing once again. The best part for Lance when Keith feeds? The vampire’s blush. It’s the most apparent after moments like these--or after draining a blood bag--so red and vibrant. So _ alive _.

“You did good,” Lance replies, chest still heaving. “Though you may have to carry me around for a while; my legs feel a little weak.”

Keith rolls his eyes, already aware of the game. “Of course, _ your highness. _Your wish is my command.”

“Excellent.” Lance rubs his hands together--another fun thing about allowing Keith to drink his blood? Keith will easily bend to his wishes for a few hours afterwards. “I’m hungry and then I demand cuddling time.” 

“Alright,” Keith easily caves to the terms, standing up from the bed, “Hold on tight.” His arms slide under Lance’s knees and behind his back to carry Lance bridal style but Lance finds his body being lifted higher into the air until he’s effortlessly slung over Keith’s shoulder. Fireman style. 

He hangs upside down, his face dangerously close to Keith’s ass. “_ Keith _,” Lance growls at his husband’s back. 

“You didn’t specify how to be carried. I chose for you.” 

“You’re lucky I love you,” Lance mutters, accepting his fate as his fingers clutch onto the sides of Keith’s shirt, but he knows Keith would never let him fall. 

Keith’s voice is soft, his fingers warm on Lance’s back. “I know.”

* * *

**London, England 1894**

The vampire’s eyes are ringed with a deep red, a barrier between his gray-violet irises and the whites of his eyes. Snarling, the vampire reveals his fangs, and Lance hastily holds up his hands in surrender.

He’d been Turned young; that is obvious. The vampire couldn’t be older than twenty-five, very close to Lance’s own perceived age. “What’s your name?” Lance asks, as a peace offering so the vampire doesn’t flee, not that he seems to be in the condition to do so--with sunken cheeks, dark shadows under his eyes, along with the fact that it looks like he’s been sleeping in the gutter for about a month.

“Keith,” the vampire mutters, playing with a hole in his moth eaten coat as if nervous but defiantly lifts his head to meet Lance. 

“When was the last time you had blood… _ human _blood?” The vampire’s blank stare is the only answer he requires. “You must drink.” Lance thrusts out his arm, baring his wrist when he pulls up his sleeve.

Keith slaps away his arm before it can come any closer. “I don’t want your pity!”

“You are almost in a state of pure bloodlust, and _ I _ don’t want you going on an insane killing spree when your thirst becomes unbearable.” Lance clenches his jaw, words biting as they attempt to make their way through the wall around the vampire’s mind.

Finally, Keith turns his head, gaze focused on something at the end of the alley. “That won’t happen.”

Crouching down, Lance’s fingers tap Keith’s jaw to draw his attention back. The red ring is thicker this close to the vampire’s face and Lance is only a little afraid that Keith’s mind will snap and he’ll pounce. “I am much older than you probably believe, fledgling. I know what will happen to you.”

Keith remains silent.

“At least come to my flat,” Lance tries, “I may have something that will help.” Met with an incredulous look and a scoff, Lance snaps his fingers and golden currents dance around his fingers before fizzling into the air. Keith becomes distracted, his eyes widening at the sight. “My name is Lance and I’m a witch. I _ can _help you; you can trust me.”

A moment passes between them as Keith’s gaze bores into Lance’s very soul, figuring out everything about him. “I will concede,” Keith says at last, “but only because it is boring sitting here.” 

“Of course it is.” Lance rolls his eyes but offers the vampire a kind smile and a hand to grasp. 

When they reach Lance’s flat, he invites Keith in and guides him to the kitchen. Lance opens his cupboard, hands flying over all the glass bottles that neatly line the shelves as he looks for that one particular potion--as well as a certain precious charm that is stored somewhere. Triumphantly grabbing the desired bottle, Lance turns to find the vampire practically slumped across one of the chairs. 

He bites his lower lip in worry. “I will only offer this one more time. You may drink from me if you wish. I’ll be fine.”

Despite his fatigued body, Keith’s gaze remains sharp. “No.”

Lance sighs, though he had been expecting the response, mumbling, “Stupid stubborn Vampires” as he returns to the cupboards in search of that charm. He discovers it stored in the back, kept in a small box, nesting in silk. A sun pendant dangles from a thin silver chain as he lifts it up. 

Soon he hands Keith the small clear bottle with purple liquid, explaining, “It will help with the cravings. But only for a little while. Vampires usually use it when they are on long voyages but it should serve your purpose too.”

Keith drinks it without question and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “What’s, uh, what is that necklace?” he asks after having swallowed the potion, lips pinching at its sourness. His eyes track the swinging bronze pendant before looking back at Lance.

“A charm… it’ll protect you from sunlight. It’s one of a kind so don’t lose it.”

“Then why are you giving it to me?” Keith asks, his hand rising to take the necklace but stops halfway as if waiting for a hidden agenda. 

Expression gentle, Lance drapes the chain across his palm. “You need it more than me.” He curls Keith’s fingers around it so it doesn’t slip. “Come, let’s clean you up.”

Too tired to protest anymore, Keith nods his head. If Lance is not mistaken, he almost believes that he can pick out wordless gratitude in the vampire’s eyes and takes the small bit of appreciation where he can. He leads Keith towards a separate room where a washing basin lies, staying rather close in case Keith needs him for support.

“Undress and I’ll get the bath prepped. Unless you require help?”

Keith shakes his head and begins to strip without warning, stumbling slightly as he pulls off his trousers. Lance tries not to stare. Light scars mar his body, a darker one slicing through his right shoulder, and part of Lance has to wonder what this vampire’s human life had been like. 

Grabbing a pot of water, Lance fills the tub until he believes Keith will be able to submerge most of his body, and he drapes a washcloth over the edge and balances a bar of soap, infused with lavender, near it. His fingers skim the top of the water when Keith steps in, warming it and letting tendrils of his healing magic wash over Keith’s battered body.

“Uh,” Keith starts, causing Lance to pause as he had begun to make his way to the door. “I don’t think I have the energy to...”

Lance almost scolds himself for being so inattentive. Keith rests his head against the wall, his eyes half lidded, close to falling asleep any minute now. To put it plainly, he looks on the verge of death. Apparently, he is in much worse shape than Lance previously thought. “I’ll help you.”

It takes awhile for the street grime to leave Keith’s skin, having caked on layers and layers from nights spent outside. His hair is in a terrible state, having let it grow wild and become matted and tangled--with what Lance hopes isn’t dried blood. Lance diligently works through the mess.

“When were you Turned? A month ago? A couple weeks?” Lance absentmindedly asks, pouring fresh water over Keith’s head.

“Five years.”

“F-Five years ago!?” Shocked and sputtering, Lance moves to face Keith. “How have you not killed someone yet?”

“Drinking a large quantity of rat blood helps?” Keith says but it answers more like a question instead. His gaze dips to his hands as he pulls them out of the water, freshly scrubbed with no dirt to be found under his nails anymore. “It becomes more taxing the longer I remain without… human blood, I admit.”

“This is more serious than I thought,” Lance confesses. “You must get over your fear soon or something terrible _ will _happen. There are… dens where humans will pay for that experience. I can take you to one.” 

That scowl returns and Keith’s hands make a small splash as they land back into the water. A few droplets pepper Lance’s face. “Can we not mention it? I have no desire to talk about this.”

“I will stop,” Lance sighs, not quite willing to let this go. Keith _ has _to understand; he has to drink human blood before insanity reaches his mind. It’s already been so long for Keith though...

As if knowing what Lance’s next curious question will be, Keith answers before Lance opens his mouth. He pouts in old anger. “I was living in this godsforsaken country for less than a month and I got attacked. Whoever deemed England to be the pinnacle of civilization has clearly never lived here.”

Lance’s laughter sends ripples across the water as he ducks his head. “I’m sorry; I’m sorry. You are too cute when you pout.”

Keith remains silent, unmoving, and it becomes a deafening type of silence. Those eyes are shadowed by a thick curtain of hair; Lance has no idea what emotion passes across his face.

“I truly am sorry,” Lance tries to appease the vampire again, staring at his profile. For a split second, a jolt of fear runs its course through his body; he has always tried to be so _ careful _. “If I made you uncomfortable--”

“No, it’s only…” Keith’s gaze drifts towards Lance again. “I did not think I’d find anyone with similar uh _ interests _and definitely not after I Turned.”

“_ Oh _,” Lance says, realizing Keith means much more than being part of the magical side of the world; he instead speaks of desires that run deeper than the perceived norm. It’s a discovery that propels Lance’s heart. He sends a soft smile to Keith, which is returned, and blush deepens on Lance’s face. “Well now you have. But if my comments remain unwanted--”

“No,” Keith responds, blunt and to the point. “They are not undesired.”

A bright smile flickers onto Lance’s face for a moment--something he hopes Keith witnesses. “Understood.”

He helps Keith climb out of the tub and presents him with a warm towel to dry off with. Thankfully, Keith wraps it around his lower half, allowing Lance to stop awkwardly gazing at the ceiling--which, he has now realized, has a lot of cracks in the plaster. 

Besides the slight tinge of redness from the scrubbing, Keith’s skin glows in health as it always should have. Water droplets race down the planes of his chest to become lost in the folds of the towel--not that Lance watches for that long of course. Keith pushes his wet hair out of his eyes and mouths a quiet “What?” at Lance.

“Wow, you are beautiful,” slips out of Lance’s mouth before he can stop himself. 

If Keith could blush, Lance honestly wonders if he’d be doing it right now. Instead, Keith ducks his head at the compliment. “Thank you?”

Only a touch mortified, Lance fights through embarrassment by saying, “Sit over there so I can brush your hair.”

Keith does as he is ordered to, finding quick relief from standing for those few minutes.

Lance’s fingers dance through his long hair, smoothing out the locks as he wrings all the excess water out--not that the vampire would catch any type of cold. Now free of grease and dirt, Keith’s hair falls well passed his shoulders, the ends curling as they begin to dry. “If you’re going to continue to live on the streets, do you want me to make this more manageable for you?” 

It probably wouldn’t hurt to chop off a few inches, especially if Keith wasn’t going to invest the time to maintain it.

Eyes closed, Keith hums in thought before he replies. “No, I don’t mind the length.”

“Then you better take care of it.” Lance pulls Keith’s hair into a plait, his movements fluid and practiced. “I don’t want to have to bathe you again,” Lance teases and Keith matches his smile.

“But what if _ I _ want you to?”

Lance bites the inside of his cheek, deciding quickly on how far to take this. “Well, you would have to buy me a meal first.”

“I’ll remember that for the future.”

“Oh?” Lance inquires, unable to stop the disappointment from sliding into his eyes. He walks over to be in front of Keith; he wants to gauge every one of Keith’s expressions. “You’re not staying?”

Keith looks at him through his thick bangs. “I can stay for a few days, but I--I don’t want to hurt you if my thirst, as you say, becomes too much.”

Lance nods in understanding and leans over to the pile of fresh clothes he had laid out for Keith. Grabbing the charm resting on top, Lance places it around Keith’s neck. His fingers tap the sun pendant. “Will you find me? If you ever decide to save yourself?”

Keith places his hand over Lance’s, skin cold from the lack of body heat. “Of course.” Lance doesn’t shiver at the touch and he laces their fingers together. 

* * *

**Boston, Massachusetts 2020**

The market is aglow with light, love, and laughter. All sorts of creatures and other humans attuned to the magical world roam the square. Keith and Lance walk through the shroud of mist that protects the market from regular mortals. Out of the corner of his eye, Lance cautiously watches Keith’s expression. Keith barely attends market nights with him, happy with his more recluse nature and Lance never wants to push. 

Yet there’s something extra special about the times when Keith does decide to join him. When Lance can slip his hand into Keith’s; when he can teach Keith about the different herbs and charms he has to buy and which ones are easily spotted knockoffs; when he can bring Keith to the best food stands and treat the vampire’s palate to something other than blood.

Keith’s eyes skirt quietly over all the different stalls, head lifting to smell the rosy tint to the air. “It’s.. different this time.”

“Hm, yeah, the people and stalls change up every few months or so now,” Lance explains as he begins to drag Keith over to his favorite vendor. “Some find better, bigger, markets to sell at, but the Boston one has always been my favorite.”

Lance’s fingers dance across the jars to find the specimens he needs. Lavender, basil, milkweed, vanilla pods. Small batches of crushed up crystals are scattered around the products, a light blue hew bathing everything as they keep the herbs free of impurities and malicious curses.

“Smells good,” Keith mutters, coming up behind Lance. His hands rest on Lance’s hips; if Keith needed to breathe, Lance knows he’d feel it against his skin as Keith leans over Lance’s shoulder. 

“Me or the booth?” Lance laughs, turning his head to see a sliver of Keith.

“Both? Mainly you? I mean, you kinda always smell like the shop nowadays so…”

“Oh my god, Keith,” Lance gasps in outrage, “It’s your _ job _to tell me if I smell.”

“I didn’t say it was a bad smell,” Keith huffs with an eye roll. “I like it a lot.”

“High praise from the vampire himself,” Lance grins, bopping Keith on the nose with a sprig of rosemary. “I’m honored.” 

Gently grabbing his wrist, Keith kisses his palm. “You taste good too,” he says with a cheeky smile.

Lance smirks and leans closer into Keith’s space. “Yeah, I’m a snack; tell me something I don’t know.”

“That’s a terrible line.”

“No wait, hold on, I can do better.”

Keith places a finger on his lips before Lance can say anything more. “No, you can’t.”

Lance sighs as he crosses his arms. “Ye of little faith.”

“Only because I know you so well.” 

They’ve backed away from the stall--Lance makes a mental note to return later in the evening when they’ve finished browsing--to a less crowded portion near the outskirts of the market. To their right is what Lance would categorize as the food court with all sorts of delicacies, though the ones specific for fairies neither of them should be tempted to try. 

“You want something to eat?” Lance asks, slightly distracted now that his eyes have caught sight of fried food. He licks his lips in thought of a _ proper _ midnight snack. “And don’t you dare say _ rats _. I swear to god…” He gaze snaps back to Keith to find the vampire biting his lip.

“Do you think anyone has some AB?” he asks instead. 

“Yeah, I’ll be right back.”

It takes Lance a few minutes to find Keith’s requested drink order. It’s not that the market doesn’t cater to vampires, but most, like Keith, even worse than Keith really, are very solitary creatures. Some will form groups or clans but a majority remain on their own. Hiding in the shadows, avoiding mortals unless they need to feed. But Lance is successful, as always--only having to dazzle the cute bartender with a smile--and returns to see Keith, surprisingly, not alone. 

“Hey, handsome,” Lance hears the fae say. Their sharp teeth flash for a moment. “We usually don’t see vampires here.” Their midnight blue hair brushes across their forehead when they push it back.

Lance watches with amusement as Keith sputters from the attention of someone else. Somehow, something which Lance will never understand, Keith always forgets the effect he has on people. 

“I usually don’t come here.”

“You should.” They smile, flush spreading across their light green skin. “Pretty ones like you are always in short supply.”

Keith rubs the back of his neck and pulls at his ponytail, a nervous tick. “Uh thank you?” 

Lance snorts in laughter, drawing a glare from his husband and the attention of the fae. 

“Oh!” the fae exclaims, finally spying Lance over Keith’s shoulder and the two drinks in his hand. “Are you two a thing or do I have a chance?”

“Sorry,” Lance says, his arm smoothly hooking across Keith’s shoulders as he flashes the fae with a blinding smile. “He’s been taken for a _ long _time.”

“Well if you ever want to be with someone different…” The offer hangs in the air.

Keith laughs and lifts his hand with the wedding ring. “Don’t hold your breath.”

The fae quickly nods. “You two make a lovely couple,” they say, leaving with a smile.

Lance immediately turns to Keith, holding the glass of blood between them that Keith graciously accepts. A cheshire grin lights up on Lance’s face. “Does that happen everywhere you go, darling? I mean, you’re stunning so I get why people can’t stay away.”

He takes a sip before he replies, or maybe in lieu of a response though he eventually does speak anyways. “There are some things better left unsaid.”

“Why?” Lance begins to goad, “Afraid I’ll get too jealous?”

Keith’s gaze flickers off to the side as he mutters, “More like, you’ll have more blackmail material.”

A high pitched whine escapes from Lance’s throat. “You just can’t tease someone like that and then _ not _tell them all your embarrassing moments.”

“Don’t you already know enough?” Keith harmlessly growls, white fangs glinting under the starlight. 

“Never enough, Keith, _ never enough.” _

Keith allows Lance to have the last word as they wander around the market, clasped hands swinging between them. The loose cobblestones under Lance’s feet wobble with age but he doesn’t stumble. When they reach the center, where the music permeates from and people dance in groups, Lance’s gaze lifts to the large tree and laughs. Honest to god ‘fairy lights,’ as in the mortal concept of them, are strung up along the old tree, sprinkling its bark in golden light. He wonders if someone bought them as a joke and why the fae haven’t retaliated yet. 

The moon, having come out from behind the clouds, bathes everyone in silver. Keith’s gray-violet eyes are dark when Lance sets his sights back on his husband, and he can’t help but let his arms hang lazily over Keith’s shoulders. They begin to sway. 

“We should get married again,” Lance says absentmindedly.

“Once not enough for you?” Keith nearly laughs. His lips are tinted red from his drink but Lance really wants to kiss him right now so he doesn’t care.

His fingers twist around the ends of Keith’s hair to bide his time. “We should do it in every state, every country that we can, every _ city. _”

“That would take literally until the end of time,” Keith replies, only a little bemused. 

“It would,” Lance does admit, “But neither one of us is going anywhere.”

Keith’s grip tightens on Lance’s belt loops, pulling him forward, if that’s even possible with how close they already are. “I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not.”

A smirk slides onto Lance’s face, nose pressing into Keith’s cheek. “Maybe I’ll just leave you wondering then.”

“You know I’m with you no matter what you decide.” 

Lance’s eyes drift closed as he soaks in his surroundings, Keith’s hands on his body, Keith’s lips drifting across his skin, the music flowing around them. “I can’t wait to spend the rest of eternity with you.”

* * *

**Havana, Cuba 1649 **

Yellow fever hits Lance’s town first and people start to drop like flies, their white skin pale and sweaty, shuddering in their beds before their souls leave them forever. This is where Lance finds himself, not one of the occupants dying in their beds but beside them. His brown hands a cooling touch on their overly hot skin. 

First he tries to save them with the remedies they brought with them from far away. Their medicine does little good, and any relief they may be granted fades quickly after the first few hours and never returns. 

When the family members leave, excusing themselves to settle in the parlor to accept the foreseeable outcome, he taps into something deeper, more wild and carnal, something he channels from within. The magic soars across his body, glowing as it reaches his hands, sparking when skin touches skin. His abuela taught him well.

He is met with gratitude when the sick open their eyes to the world again, lucid and weak but alive.

“They tell me you work miracles,” says a man one day, his form shadowed. “My wife has fallen ill and I am not specialized in the art of healing. Save her.” He holds out his hand; coins gleam in the summer sun.

And Lance, a young twenty-three year old Lance, with all the bravado in the world accepts the job with a smile and a handshake.

The minute his golden magic reaches for the woman, she reacts. Her screams echo throughout the house, body succumbing to fits of shaking, and Lance is terrified. Terrified because the minute he rips his hands away from her body, it falls, limp and lifeless on the soaked linens.

Silence descends over Lance and the older man until Lance finally finds his voice again. “I--I’m sorry,” he stutters, forcing words, phrases, apologies passed his lips. His hands tremble; he can’t bring himself to look at them. “I didn’t know that someone couldn’t be compatible with magic. I--”

The man places his pointer finger on Lance’s forehead, stalling Lance’s movements, and his eyes glow a deep purple, a color only found in the richest of dyes and most coveted flowers. His mouth moves but Lance’s ears have fallen silent to the sound.

Lance gasps when he comes out of the spell, dropping to his knees. His throat is dry, lips chapped, ends of his hair singed; a bit of blood stains his lips as his nose bleeds. It hurts to talk before he swallows. “Wha-what did you _ do _?”

“Ageless immortality.”

Lance heaves bile into the palm of his hand. “I--”

“It is polite among my people to thank someone when they have given a _ gift _,” the man snares. The candles providing necessary light to the small room have burned down to a nub. Everything is shadowed and dark, the body on the bed almost disappearing. The man’s eyes are murderous. 

Scared and bewildered, Lance does thank the stranger and leaves the residence in a daze. 

Lance doesn’t understand at first and maybe that’s the problem. 

It’s not until his family starts to visibly age beyond him that the realization about the true curse of immortality settles upon Lance’s soul. Gray hairs he will never have, wrinkles that will never be etched onto his skin. All the people he will outlive by centuries, millennia even, withering away to dust before him. 

Lance failed to save a single person to in turn be doomed with eternal loss.

Cities burn and empires crumble, and Lance must continue onward as everything, every_ one _ , but him changes. He has to cope with loneliness, with death, with pain and heartache. With not trusting his magic any longer to it being the only thing that keeps him sane. With wanting to become a recluse on a high mountain top to yearning to experience everything _ . _

Until something snaps inside and he simply _ lives _. 

For eternity.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance smirks, proud of his secret plan apparently. “I already knew what it was going to be; I just wanted to hear you say it.”
> 
> “You’re too smug about this whole thing,” Keith mumbles though his eyes sparkle as it all suddenly rushes into his brain. 
> 
> Marrying. Lance. 
> 
> It’s about time.
> 
> (or new segments about two immortals finding their true home in each other but this time from Keith’s pov)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait; hope you enjoy:) 
> 
> Lyric from Sunkissed by khai dreams.

* * *

_ It’s so lovely loving you _

* * *

**London, England 1889**

Sometimes Keith will catch himself gazing at a person too long--too long to have a proper excuse as to why he stares at a man the way someone else would stare at a beautiful woman. There’s one he always sees walking by, brown hair, darker skin, always has an air about him that screams confidence and a slight ego; Keith never has the courage to talk to the man. Not that it would ever amount to anything anyways. Then he’s gone, disappearing around the street corner. 

Keith has only been in this country for a month, and he can already tell he’s going to get himself into trouble, sooner rather than later.

Maybe Shiro was right, maybe this was a bad idea. His brother has never once failed him when giving advice; Keith’s the one who just never listens.  _ “You were always more impulsive than me,” _ Shiro said when Keith asked him to join him, and maybe that is the entire problem of this whole adventure Keith almost wishes he never started on.

He doesn’t see the shadow envelope him before it’s too late. A hand slaps over his mouth, smothering his scream, while the other harshly drags him into the alley, hidden from sight. 

Teeth rip into his neck, tearing his flesh and forcing him up against a wall as he feels the person drink from him. Legs already shaking, the only reason Keith remains standing is the harsh grip on his body and the lull his brain is slowly fading into, telling him not to fight, that this is what he wants. Her hair smells of citrus, blonde curls bouncing near his nose; it is the only thing he notes in his muddled brain before he’s fully drowning.

“Hm, it would be a shame to let you die,” he hears her sweet voice say.

He dumbly nods. 

Part of his brain wants to protest but it is quieted as his vision grays around the edges; he’s losing himself now as she slices her wrist open with her sharp fingernail. She must feel no pain because she doesn’t even flinch. Blood oozes out of the cut, dripping onto the stone below, mixing with his. Grabbing his jaw, she forces her own blood down Keith’s throat, placing a hand on his neck to make sure he swallows. 

He’s fully falling, both metaphorically and physically since she allows him to slump to the ground. Sight completely in darkness, Keith’s heart stops and he dies.

“I would have buried you,” he hears from the woman as he opens his eyes who knows how many minutes or hours later. “But that is a messy business that I have no time or patience for.”

Blinking rapidly and groaning as if waking from a peaceful slumber, everything sharpens around Keith. His eyes pick out every shape in the dark as if it was daylight, his ears hear the scurrying of rats as they make their way from one trash heap to another, and as his fingers press hard onto the ground, the stone cracks under them.

The ends of her blonde ringlet curls and her fair skin are splattered in blood. His blood.

His stomach twists in hunger, instigated by the smell of blood in the alley, and he almost vomits at the thought.

She had been a messy eater--Keith hates himself for wanting to laugh. But being completely and rightfully, terrified, the instinct is quelled almost instantly. 

He wants to call this person a  _ Nure-onna _ \--despite the differences--but he knows the western term for this type of creature, having heard enough rumors about them in his travels.  _ Vampire. _

He stares at her in horror, scrambling up from his position on the ground. His hand instantly flies to his neck, expecting a gruesome scene, only to encounter dried blood and healed skin. “What did you do to me?” 

“You are lucky I didn’t drain you, fledgling,” the woman comments, gesturing for him to follow as she makes her way towards the end of the alley, “Come, we must find  _ your  _ prey now.”

“Excuse me?” he musters the courage to voice. Having no intention of following, he remains where he stands, eyes set into a hard, unrelenting glare. 

“You require human blood,” she says, exasperated as if it is the most idiotic thing she has ever had to explain.

“I won’t.”

Walking back to him, skirts swishing as she moves, she crosses her arms. “You will or you will lose control and kill more than simply one mortal.”

Growling, he punches the vampire in the face before he can think twice but she catches his fist in her palm before he can make contact. She crushes his hand and he winches every time a bone loudly pops. He refuses to let her hear him scream again. “Gentlemen should not strike ladies,” she tsks, a smirk on her blood-ruby lips. 

He blows his hair out of his eyes, scowling. “You are not a lady.”

“I suppose there is truth in that,” she replies lightly, “And you are not a man anymore either.” Her green eyes appear black in the night as she smiles, revealing her fangs in a warning. “Now are you going to follow me or have I wasted my time with you?” 

“Stay the hell away from me.” He shoves her with enough force to send her flying into the wall next to them. Her body makes a slight indent in the brick. He stares at his hands in horror but isn’t able to dwell too much on it as she picks herself back up, murderous intent reflecting in her eyes.

She bares her teeth. “Sun’s rising soon,  _ fledgling _ , better run.”

He heeds her words and wonders if he’ll ever truly stop fleeing.

* * *

**London, England 1894**

Keith stays with Lance for a full week--contrary to his initial insistence of three days. 

“You seem lost,” Lance tells him as he hands over a cup of tea. Sunlight streams through the thin fabric of the white curtains, and Keith basks in the heat that washes across his skin.

Even a week after Lance gifted him the charm, he still has not become used to the touch of sun--not after being sequestered in the dark corners of the slums for five years. He had no reason to trust Lance at first either, seriously wondering if he would step out into the light and burst into flames, all as hearty entertainment for the witch. 

It was when he woke up early in the morning on the second day, hearing Lance puttering around his kitchen, that Keith decided to try. He had hesitantly pulled back the thick, dark curtain in his room, watching as a few patches of light landed on the floor. Sticking only one finger into a beam, he gazed in awe, amazed when nothing occurred. No charred flesh, no smoke, no ashes. 

Keith created shadow puppets on the wall across from him and his lips twitched upwards.

He still hasn’t thanked Lance properly for everything.

Keith arches an eyebrow. “I do?”

“You’re leaving tomorrow, aren’t you?” Lance says, too correctly that Keith could almost believe the witch can read minds. A sad smiles weaves its way across his features; something lingers in those blue eyes that Keith is too young to understand. 

“I… I need some space to come to terms with what I must do soon.” The cravings will only remain sedated for so long. Keith’s fingers curl into a fist at the thought of it, stomach churning. His gums, where his fangs lie unused, have begun to tingle again with want.

Lance rests a hand over his, and slowly the tension fades. “This is not something that has to be done alone.”

Keith shakes his head. “It needs to be, for me.”

“You are not the first fledgling that has come across my path, but you are definitely the most headstrong,” Lance replies with a laugh, and Keith is not sure if he is supposed to receive that as a compliment or an insult. “And you are certainly the most handsome.” Lance winks, easing the heavy conversation they have found themselves in. 

If Keith was human, he wouldn’t doubt that a deep crimson blush would be spreading across his skin right now. “How old are you?”

“Why? Do not tell me you’re not attracted to men more than two hundred years older than you?” The witch cracks a grin, batting his eyes.

“The thought had crossed my mind,” Keith jokes. “But I asked more for curiosity's sake.”

Eyes dead set on Keith, Lance replies without hesitation. “I’m two hundred and sixty eight years old.” 

Keith tries not to let surprise wash out every other expression on his face and settles with one of nonchalance as he mentally sorts through the information provided. “You were born in the sixteen hundreds?”

“Mhmm.” Lance rests his chin in the palm of his hand, waiting for Keith to filter through all his questions. 

Keith’s eyebrows pinch together as he stares at the man, who appears no older than twenty three--which is about two years younger than the age Keith is permanently stuck at. “The immortality… by birth or--”

“A curse.”

“Oh.”

Lance gently nudges him with a smile. “You are free to ask about it.” 

Keith shakes his head. “I would not wish to pry if it is truly unwanted.”

Shrugging, Lance fiddles with the sleeve of his shirt, unbuttoning and buttoning the cuff until he is satisfied. “There is not much to it, if I am being honest--” something Keith does not believe for one second, no matter how bright Lance’s smile appears “--I made a rash, foolish deal and I’ve been paying the price.”

“Is it lonely being alive for so long?” Keith asks after a long moment of silence, studying Lance’s face, slight upturned nose, hair curling on his temple and over the shell of his ear, freckles peppering the bridge of his nose and cheeks.

The witch truly is handsome. 

“Yes,” Lance replies honestly, “but it is not terribly painful if you have someone to spend it with.”

“I must remember that.” Keith allows himself to share a small smile between them, one that Lance returns knowingly.

The witch stands from the chair, moving to reheat the water for his tea which Keith assumes has gone cold. His has but he hasn’t even taken a sip of it yet--and now regrets it when he does, lips twisting as it settles on his tongue; the flavor does not acclimate well with the cooled water. He pushes the cup out of his immediate reach. 

Placing the kettle on the stove, Lance returns his attention to Keith. “Do you have any relations who may wish to hear you have not passed on?”

“I have a brother… adopted. Back in Japan. I was toying with the idea of seeing him once I sort myself out.”

Lance smiles to himself as if reliving a fond memory. Keith would have missed the expression if he hadn’t been staring at Lance this entire time. “Japan is one of the few places I have not traveled to. Tell me about it.”

And Keith does exactly that.

Tomorrow arrives quicker than he expects but he is ready to depart. As Keith stands on one side of the threshold and Lance the other, Lance kisses him on the cheek. “Promise you will return to me.”

Keith turns his head, their noses bumping together as Lance remains so close that Keith wouldn’t even have to move to kiss him properly. “Haven’t I promised already?” Something Keith realizes he did during one of their first conversations together.

Lance hums an affirmative and brushes Keith’s hair out of his eyes for a moment. “Indulge me.”

“Even if a few decades pass, I will never forget you, Lance. I  _ will  _ find you.” Keith doesn’t think when he places a chaste kiss on Lance’s lips--a goodbye kiss if anything but also one of hope for the future. Lance freezes at the unexpected action before he relaxes, gripping Keith’s coat to find stability as he deepens the kiss. “Trust in me,” he says when they break apart.

“I do.”

*

*

When Keith feeds on human blood for the first time, his hands shake as he presses the person against the wall, but he can’t ignore the rush that courses through him, making him feel alive.

It’s instant relief for his aching body. The pounding in his head that has become more of a companion from being present for so long vanishes. Shaking hands calm as he laps up every ounce of blood that leaves the wound, not wanting to miss a drop. It’s rich, much more so than the rats he had been feeding on, almost candied as it passes over his tongue.

He had tried to control himself by not ripping open his victim’s throat but the process is still messy; he would consider it to be disgusting if it wasn’t making him feel incredible.

When the heartbeat begins to slow under his palm, Keith’s fangs retract, having reached the body’s limit though he knows he could--and wants to--drink for longer. There are five years worth of starvation to account for but he’ll have to move on from this one.

He wipes his bloody mouth on his sleeve, ignoring the red streak that’s left behind, and he withdraws back to the street before his victim even knows what hit them.

* * *

**Yokohama, Japan 1901**

His first stop on this new adventure was supposed to be to see Shiro until procrastination became an overbearing companion, and after seven years of travelling across Europe, learning how to deal with his vampirism, he has finally set foot in Japan. After extensive research through records in Tokyo, Keith discovered that Shiro had moved a few years ago to one of the port towns. 

It’s a peaceful area, definitely up and coming, and he understands why Shiro would make his home near the ocean. While not having the impulsiveness for grand life changing adventures Keith is cursed with, Shiro never liked to feel boxed in when they used to live further inland. By the sea, at least you know there’s more beyond your home, especially with all the trade coming through. 

Keith almost becomes dizzy with the overwhelming scents flooding his nose as he passes a few market stalls. His stomach grumbles as his eyes pass over the fresh fruit placed front and center, but he has to pause for a moment, deciding whether his hunger is for actual human food or for one of the people that mill around him and if that sweet scent in the air is from the fruit or him chasing a five course meal.

When he safely discerns that it is indeed the former on both accounts, he pays for a ripe pear to snack on his way to find Shiro. Juice dribbles down his chin as he takes a bite, moaning from the honeyed taste, and he wipes his mess away with his thumb. 

Caught up in the fresh fruit, he almost doesn’t realize he has made it to the address until he nearly bumps into a man sweeping his front steps. Keith darts behind the side of the house, only releasing a sigh when the man makes no indication of having been disturbed. 

It takes him a second to realize that the stranger is in fact Shiro. A Shiro who seems to be missing his right arm, who has a tuft of white threading through his otherwise black hair that Keith hardly believes is from old age. Shiro is barely above forty now, if Keith has calculated the dates correctly. Has it been from stress then?

Throughout those seven years, Keith had at least been working on what he would say to Shiro when they met again. Most iterations of his speeches started with a version of a lame excuse, followed by him babbling about Lance, half because he can’t help but want to tell Shiro about Lance and also to change the subject in hopes of warding off any questions he won’t be able to fully answer. 

He steps out of the shadows in time to catch Shiro sliding the door closed, able to catch a brief view into his house where a  _ butsudan _ sits in the back. Where Keith’s photograph, that he remembers having it taken before he left, sits in memoriam. His sharp sight picks up every detail on the altar.

He stupidly stands in front of Shiro’s house, risking him walking out again, as it all slowly sinks in. Because while Keith had been gallivanting in Europe for the past thirteen years or so, to his only family, he has been considered dead this entire time. For thirteen years, Shiro has had the chance to grieve, move on, and make a life Keith is not privy to--both because he no longer belonging to the mortal world anymore and because of the amount of time spent abroad.

Would this Shiro be a stranger to him now?

Even if Keith has not physically aged a day, he doubts Shiro would recognize him as the brash young man that left long ago. And how can he possibly explain all of this--his appearance mainly, something he foolishly overlooked in his excitement for a homecoming? Keith can’t completely tell him the truth; Shiro may think he went insane in Europe, not that that’s not accurate.

In a split second decision, he leaves, kicking up dust as he goes. A few tears flow down his cheeks but he takes little note of them.

Two thoughts ring out clear in his mind. The first one is simple, more of a fact really.  _ This isn’t home anymore _ , he thinks as he somberly meanders around Yokohama, trying to figure out where to go from here. It was a thought that had also begun to settle with him back in Tokyo.

And the second one becomes a part of him. 

No one normal would understand an inhuman creature like him, anyways. It’s better for everyone from his old life to continue to assume he’s dead; it’s less painful for all parties.

Wet spots mar the material of his sleeve.

* * *

**Brooklyn, New York 1931**

Part of Keith wants Lance to tell him to stay. He would if Lance asked, but he knows Lance won’t--he’s too selfless. Keith almost wishes Lance would be more selfish sometimes. But they both know Keith’s restless, wandering spirit has caught up to him again--it happened when he was human and it still occurs as a vampire; it’s good to know some parts of his humanity never completely vanished.

Maybe he should ask Lance to travel with him, but Lance has created a life for himself here. It wouldn’t be right to drag him away just because Keith is the one feeling selfish at this moment in time. 

Keith loves Lance too much to ask him to come and Lance loves him too much to ask him to stay. It’s a circle of imperfect perfection. 

“Write to me, yes?” Lance says, drawing Keith away from his thoughts and to the perfect man in front of him.

Those blue eyes are shadowed in the indecipherable expression Lance always seems to cast when Keith is about to leave. Four years is much longer to spend with each other than one simple week--four years of becoming fluid in each other’s mannerisms and expressions and daily life. Four years of pure unadulterated love. And maybe that’s why the thought of leaving harshly rips into Keith’s soul this time.

He’s so close to breaking, if only-- 

“Always,” Keith’s mind ends up supplying the response for him.

“Stay safe out there.” Lance pats Keith’s chest to smooth out the wrinkles on his shirt, a nervous tick Lance seems to have started to develop--though part of Keith believes there’s a secret agenda behind it as well. Lance’s finger taps the sun pendent hidden under his clothes. “I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.”

Keith closes his eyes for a moment, memorizing Lance’s scent as if he hasn’t already and paints a picture perfect image of him in his mind. When Keith opens his eyes again, watching Lance watching him, he knows the witch had been doing the same exact thing. “You know that applies to you too, right? Don’t do anything foolishly brave.”

“That I may not be able to promise.”

“Humor me.”

Lance drapes his arms over Keith’s shoulders. “I’ll be careful, but if you need to check up on me every so often, I’m not opposed.” He ducks his head to brush his lips against the shell of Keith’s ear and whispers, “Because I may end up doing something stupid to get your attention.”

Why is it so hard to leave this time around? Keith’s heart already knows the answer to that. 

“Every year or so we meet on this date unless there’s a conflict,” Keith decides suddenly.

A genuine smile breaks across Lance’s face as he nods in agreement. “I’d like that.”

Tucking a lock of hair behind Keith’s ear, Lance’s fingers linger for a moment before he reluctantly pulls back. “See you soon,” Keith says instead of goodbye, and he feels those eyes on him the whole way as he walks to the cab parked outside their home. 

“Stay safe, love, I’ll miss you,” Lance whispers, so quietly that it is as if he doesn’t want Keith to hear him, forgetting about the vampire’s enhanced senses.

Keith almost turns around, drops his suitcase, and allows himself to melt in Lance’s embrace for the rest of eternity. But he knows he still has some wandering to do. He'll return home eventually, he's certain of that. No matter where Lance is, Keith will find him. After all, he has told Lance just that, a long time ago.

* * *

**[Excerpts of letters sent from 1931-1992]**

_ “I miss you with every part of my being.” _

_ “The thought of returning to you, of merely seeing you for a few days, is the only thing that anchors me.” _

_ “I long to hear your voice, to feel your touch on my skin and the warmth of your laughter fills the air.” _

_ “It’s lonely here without you.” _

_ “I think I’m ready to come home.” _

_ “Yours forever,  _

_ Keith" _

* * *

**Paris, France 1992**

The metro is empty and thus quiet. Lance’s heart pumps loudly in the still air as Keith counts each beat. He makes it to thirty-four when he decides it’s time to say something. Not that looking at the passing Parisian buildings, leaving the lights of the Eiffel Tower behind them, isn’t pleasing, but he has so longed to hear Lance’s voice again, to feel his presence by his side, that Keith is anxious from the thought of no one starting a conversation. 

The seat cushion is a little sticky underneath Keith as he shifts his body. The movement is unexpected enough to startle Lance out of whatever day dream had captured him. 

In the end, it is Lance who makes the first remark, his gaze soft but serious as he studies Keith. “Why did you finally decide to stay? After all this time...”

It’s strange to think that sixty years have passed since the last time Keith decided to stay more than a few days. After the early thirties, they’ve only been meeting up once every few years or so, if they were able to--as well as exchanging letters--but the mortal war(s) complicated a lot of things. 

Keith takes a moment to settle on a response. “Did you know it’s almost been a hundred years since we first met?”

Lance smirks, shifting to more easily see Keith. His places his legs on Keith’s lap and rests his head against the train car’s window. “How could I forget? You’re just as stubborn now as you were then, but I don’t see how this answers my question.”

“I think, no, I _know _that the loneliness of not being with the person you love finally caught up with me. I really have missed you so much, Lance. And I need to say thank you for waiting so long.”

“Keith,” Lance says slowly, reaching his hand up to cup Keith’s face, his fingers lightly carding through Keith’s hair. “I would wait a thousand years for you if I had to.”

“Well you’ll never have to again.”

He leans close towards Keith with his blue eyes gleaming with humor. “I’ve finally caught myself a strapping young vampire, so of course I’m never letting you go.”

Keith grins. “Good, ‘cause I wouldn’t want you to.”

Their laughter fills the empty space of the car, and Keith wraps an arm around Lance’s waist to draw him ever closer.

* * *

**Havana, Cuba 2000**

Keith wakes to a body furiously tossing and turning beside him. At first, he thinks Lance is awake and has just not been able to find a comfortable sleeping position. But as Keith allows his mind to wake up, blinking in the dark for his eyes to adjust, seeing as clearly as if it’s broad daylight, he catches sight of sweat beading up on Lance’s forehead, eyes twitching behind closed lids.

“No,” Lance mumbles. His lips part as he breathes heavily. “Don’t leave.” Keith’s heart clenches, briefly believing this nightmare is about him, and his hands hover over Lance, not sure what to do--knowing how he himself usually lashes out if he’s having one. “ _ Mamá! _ ” Lance cries out.

The lamp on the nightstand beside Lance blazes to life, becoming so bright that the lightbulb shatters. Keith automatically throws up his arms to protect his face before the broken glass impales his skin, but a shard grazes his cheek, cutting softly.

“Please, I didn’t mean to; I didn’t mean to do it.” The thrashing continues. 

Objects begin to rise and spin around the room. The radio, phone, lamps, books, their suitcases, and other hotel amenities put out by the maids before their arrival. Keith has to duck his head a few times, moving to shield Lance’s body with his own. The radio occasionally flickers to life, crackling with an old tune Keith remembers being around to hear the first time it was released. 

“Hey, hey, sweetheart,” Keith says, lifting Lance into his arms as he whimpers, cradling him. He cards a hand through Lance’s sweaty hair to push it off his forehead. His heartbeat pumps erratically. “Just let it out. Don’t hold it in anymore.”

When Lance begins to cry, everything quiets. The objects halt in their movements and crash to the ground, some bouncing harmlessly on the rug while the glassware shatters from being dropped from so great a height.

Lance never does open his eyes, but by the subtle change to his breathing, Keith knows he’s awake. He shifts Lance’s body so the witch can wrap his arms around Keith, something he immediately does, burying his nose into Keith’s hair. Tears drop onto Keith’s skin and he shivers every time.

Keith toys with the hair at the nape of Lance’s neck as he rubs Lance’s back and whispers soothing words into his ear. 

“I miss them,” Lance weeps into Keith’s shoulder, fingers digging into Keith’s back as he clutches on tight. “I miss them,” he repeats over and over again. 

Eventually, they manage to fall asleep. 

When Keith wakes in the morning, still exhausted from the night’s ordeal, he finds the sheets next to him both empty and cold. Worry sets in as he jumps up from the bed, bare feet padding around their hotel room until he catches sight of a light underneath the bathroom door. Slowly pushing it open, Keith sees Lance hunched over the sink, hands gripping the porcelain so tight that Keith almost believes it’ll crack at any moment. 

Lance starts when Keith steps further into the bathroom. Lifting his head, he swings his gaze around only for his eyes to widen, sucking in a sharp breath. “Your cheek,” is the first thing he says. Lance allows himself to release one hand from the sink, stretching it out to brush across Keith’s cheek. The slight swelling had disappeared overnight but Lance’s fingers are cool against the still heated skin. 

Keith leans into Lance’s touch and holds his hand there before he can withdraw it. “It’s just a scratch; it’ll heal.”

“I hurt you,” Lance’s voice cracks.

“ _ You _ were hurting, Lance. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I usually have better control. I--”

“Do you always hide your nightmares from me?” Keith asks softly, cutting Lance off from a potential spiral. It’s still blunt though; Keith doesn’t know any other way to ask his question.

Lance sighs, eyes drifting back down to the ground when he steps back. “No… yes, but they usually don’t happen when you’re around. Usually not so bad.” He stops for a moment. “I knew I shouldn’t have come to Cuba. I thought, I thought--” he presses the heels of his hands to his eyes as he searches for the right words “--I thought since it’s been four hundred years, I’d be okay. I’ve learned to live with the pain so I thought seeing this place again would be fine.”

Keith is desperate to reach out to Lance but doesn’t know if the witch will welcome it. “Lance.”

Lance matches Keith’s gaze, eyes full of sadness. “I just wanted to come home, but it’s not home anymore, is it? I mean, it’s not like I can visit their graves. I’m almost  _ four  _ hundred years old, Keith, nothing I used to know exists anymore.”

Nothing Keith remembers--Meiji Japan, his childhood town,  _ Shiro _ \--exists anymore either, but Keith is much younger than Lance, almost laughably so, that he knows he can’t comprehend the absolute heartache Lance has carried with him for centuries. So he does the one thing he knows; he opens up his arms, an invitation if Lance accepts. “I’ll always be your home.”

Sending Keith a weak smile, Lance folds into Keith readily and eagerly. His body shakes but tears do not fall this time, fully spent. Lance’s eyes briefly flicker up again before he buries his face back into Keith’s neck, giving a small snort that vibrates against Keith's skin. "Your bedhead is really cute today."

Rubbing a hand up and down Lance’s back, Keith chuckles. His hair smells like coconut shampoo when Keith buries his nose into it and pressing a kiss there. “Thanks.”

“I can heal it for you... if you want,” Lance mutters into his skin. 

“If you’re not too exhausted…”

Instead of responding, Lance picks up his head, matching Keith’s gaze, as his fingers trail over his cheek. It stings at first, when Lance reaches the wound, so much so that Keith does flinch, but the warm tinglings of Lance’s magic soon soothe over the brief pain. His skin knits back together until no scar is visible. Keith hums in contentment; he’ll never get tired of the comfort of Lance’s magic on his body. He never has forgotten the sensation from the first time they met and he was healed.

Lance’s thumb continues to brush over the patch of skin where Keith’s cut had been as he rests his forehead on Keith’s, closing his eyes. “I think I want to go home,” he whispers between them, a secret.

“Of course; I’m with you no matter what you decide.”

Lance places a quiet kiss on his lips, and it tastes like salt.

* * *

**Boston, Massachusetts May 17th, 2004**

“Let’s get married today,” Lance says as he walks up to Keith washing the dishes from breakfast, tugging playfully on his ponytail, and he wraps his arms around Keith’s waist to hug him from behind. Lance’s breath tickles the back of Keith’s neck.

The dish clatters back into the sink when he turns to face Lance. “You haven’t even proposed yet.” Keith laughs.

Lance lifts his gaze, wearing a smirk on his face. “Oh, did I forget to do something?”

“Only a minor step.”

Lance pouts, fingers hooking through the belt loops of Keith’s jeans. He leans in slyly. “You still haven’t answered…”

Keith shakes his head with a small smile. His wet hands make incomplete handprints on the sides of Lance’s shirt as he drags the witch closer. “Of course I’ll marry you today.”

“Good, but we only have an hour to get ready.”

“You booked an appointment without knowing my answer.”

Lance smirks, proud of his secret plan apparently. “I already knew what it was going to be; I just wanted to hear you say it.”

“You’re too smug about this whole thing,” Keith mumbles though his eyes sparkle as it all suddenly rushes into his brain. 

_ Marrying. Lance. _

It’s about time.

“You’re just mad because you didn’t think about being spontaneous first,” Lance remarks, white teeth apparent in his grin.

“Lies.”

With that, Keith obediently follows Lance to the bedroom, who with a flick of his wrist, has already opened their closet as he pours over clothing choices. Lightly scowling, Keith asks, “Aren’t we just signing a piece of paper; do we really need to go all out?” Which is still a huge deal for both of them, but Keith begins to scrunch his nose at the notion of having to dress up all fancy for no one but themselves.

Lance squawks at Keith’s question, spinning around and poking him in the chest for emphasis. "You best be sure I'm dressing up for my own wedding, buddy." Then Lance tilts his head in thought.  “You still have some dress clothes, right?”

Keith actually has to think about this one. “They’re probably from the fifties,” he says at last, “if I kept anything. Probably moth-eaten too.”

“Unbelievable. Guess you’ll just borrow some of mine.”

“The shirt won’t fit me.”

“Yes, I  _ know _ ,” Lance says exasperated, “You and your vampire muscles think you’re so great. But I have magic.” He pulls out a simple button-down shoved way back into their closet. “Never liked this color anyways.” With a flick of his hand and a few golden sparks falling from his fingers onto the material as he mouths a few words, the color changes from a muted grey to a deep burgundy, the shirt itself becoming wider in the chest and sleeves. 

“That looks nice,” Keith says, and it truly does, but he grabs it before Lance decides to add some intricate embellishments to the shirt in order to show off more. A sound of annoyance escapes from Lance, but he soon plasters an easy smirk on his face.

“Only the best for you,  _ darling _ .”

Once in the bathroom, Keith changes into the proper attire and allows his hair to fall loose, hanging a little past his shoulders, something he knows Lance always likes--easier to play with, Lance has said before when Keith asked. 

Lance knocks on the door a few moments later, pushing it open without an answer. The witch has dressed in similar colored slacks but wears a baby blue button-down in contrast with Keith’s dark red one. He must have run his hand through his hair a few times because it falls across his forehead in that stylish disheveled look that Keith dies for.

“What about the rings?” Keith wonders as Lance whistles in appreciation, smirking at his own handy work. 

Lance pauses in his movements, having brought his hands up to brush out any wrinkles in Keith’s shirt--though Keith expects it was more of a thin disguise for copping a feel--and sends him a sheepish smile. “That’s, that’s uh been covered for some time.” Lance digs into his pants’ pocket and pulls out two gleaming objects.

“Wha-- _ Lance _ ,” Keith breathes as rotates the expensive looking ring in the palm of his hand. The gold is engraved with flowers--too small to tell the species--and each angle seems to pick out a different color in the metal. 

“I bought these long before you were born. Kinda like a first century of life crisis,” Lance begins to explain, rubbing the back of his neck. “Faeries really know how to sell you stuff. And I may have had high hopes back in the 1700s of getting married. But now I realize they were always meant for us.” 

“They’re beautiful,” is all Keith is able to say, wanting to see what it looks like on his finger but reluctantly drops it back in Lance’s palm, knowing that time will come soon. Like in a half hour at most soon, now that Keith thinks about it. 

“Then they’ll suit a pretty boy like you.” Lance smirks as he walks away to finish getting ready, and heat rises to Keith’s cheeks. 

It’s not a grand ceremony or anything. Just him, his soon-to-be-husband, and an office clerk who witnesses them signing the marriage license and then the certificate--having been able to waiver the three day waiting period. It’s not even the intimate wedding Keith would assume Lance probably imagined for himself a long time ago--Lance, who had most likely always been taught to find a pious woman, to have a large family, who most likely would have died young; a similar fate to Keith if had never Turned. 

But now, this is all pretty perfect in Keith’s opinion.

While they may have been able to get married as early as they desired to in a fae ritual, for both of them, who’ve never truly left the human world as others like them tend to do, never having retreated, this is more important.

Keith holds Lance’s hand as he slowly slides that beautiful ring onto the intended finger, saying his vows. “I’ve been lost for so long, even before I changed, and afterwards, I didn’t know what to do with my life. But you were there, forever my anchor. You saved me that day and you continue to save me every day since. I love you so much, Lance, and I can’t wait to cherish you forever.”

Lance chuckles a little at their subtle inside joke, the clerk not knowing the true weight of that last word, and he wipes a tear beading up in the corner of his eye. He takes Keith’s hand in his, ring at the ready. “You are my sun, Keith, which I know is a strange thing to say, considering that you’re a… well you know. But it’s true because I was shrouded in darkness for so long, dealing with so much loss. And you came along, someone who would never permanently leave me, and I realized there’s still so much that’s worth living for, so much to see and hope for. I love you so much, Keith, and I can’t wait to cherish you forever.” 

Keith can’t even wait for the clerk to end the ceremony before he’s leaning in to kiss Lance, who already meets him halfway.

On the steps of city hall, Keith tilts his head as he hears the thin wisps of musical notes on the wind--must be two or three blocks away at least. He wraps his arm around Lance’s waist and begins to guide him in the direction of the sound.

“Where’re we going?” Lance quirks an eyebrow.

“You deserve a wedding dance, loverboy.”

Eventually they come across a street musician in the middle of her song; her arm and bow slide quickly across the violin strings as the small crowd around her claps to the rhythm. Keith tugs an eager Lance closer. When the performance ends and the crowd begins to disperse, they walk forward. Keith places money in the violin case. The musician watches them with interest, her eyes flickering from their dress-clothes to the untarnished golden rings on their fingers.

“You two… newlyweds?” she asks with a soft smile. 

Keith’s gaze flickers up to meet hers. “Yeah.”

“Congrats,” she says, “Got any requests?”

Keith glances back at Lance before replying, “Something slow, like a waltz, please.”

She nods in confirmation, bringing the instrument up to rest against her neck. As he walks back those few steps, Lance bows with a shy grin. “May I have this dance?”

“Of course.” They seamlessly fold into the correct position, Lance eventually taking the lead as he always does, not that Keith is as terrible a dancer as before but he enjoys the loss in control, especially when it’s Lance he’s giving it up to. 

Keith becomes lost in the music, not even recognizing when the violinist changes to a new song but stays in the similar genre. It has a little more pep in its step this time, matching Keith’s mood.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile so much,” his husband comments as they twirl across the concrete.

_ His husband. His husband. His husband.  _

There’s a ring on his finger that instantly became a comfortable weight and its partner sits on his husband’s hand. He’s married the love of his life. All the shit he went through over the centuries has been worth it for this outcome.

The smile on his face widens the more he thinks about it; he can’t control it anymore. Lance laughs in delight at his struggle. “I’m just really happy today.”

“Is that so?” Lance teases. “Any particular reason?”

“You have to guess.”

Lance doesn’t even pretend to beat around the bush. “Is it because you finally got to marry a certain devilishly handsome witch?” He waggles his eyebrows and Keith has to bite his lip to prevent himself from laughing.

“No, it’s because I got new clothes,” Keith deadpans, a wicked smile playing at his lips not a moment later.

Lance purses his lips. “Well I  _ did  _ put a lot of effort into your shirt, so I guess that’s acceptable.”

“But,” Keith finally concedes, not being able to play along any longer, “Marrying you was a nice bonus to end the day.”

“Mm, and the best part--” Lance begins to lean in closer “--we’ll still be married tomorrow and the day after and the day--”

“You can just say forever, Lance.”

He grins. “I know.”

* * *

**Toronto, Canada 2021**

He loves to listen to Lance’s heartbeat, his head resting on Lance’s chest as he curls himself against Lance’s body. That soft rhythmic pumping that doesn’t go unnoticed by his enhanced sense of hearing. Lance lethargically cards a hand through Keith’s hair, working on some of the tangles.

Lance’s body is so warm; he could honestly fall asleep right here as he reads if he wasn’t engrossed in his novel. The page crinkles as he turns it, worn and old. Some of the ink has faded but it’s still legible, to him at least since he practically has the story memorized.

“Can you be any more predictable?” Lance asks, eyeing his choice in reading material.  _ Dracula  _ stands out in thick, red font on the black cover. “You don’t see me reading  _ Harry Potter, _ do you?”

“Shut up, this’s been my favorite book for over a hundred years.”

Lance sets him with a pointed gaze, flatly remarking, “Because you’re unimaginative and cliche.”

Keith’s places the book on the nightstand, Lance claiming his undivided attention as always. So much for reading tonight. His lips curl upwards. “I haven’t seen you read anything but those trash romance novels for the last five years. You shouldn’t talk.”

He gasps in offense, placing a hand to his chest. “Those ‘trash romance’ novels actually make me feel things, Keith.”

“I can make you feel things,” Keith seamlessly replies, muscles in his arms stiffening. 

“ _ Oh my go--” _ Lance tries to say as he is smacked in the face with a pillow. He recovers quickly, a little red in the face from embarrassment of being caught off guard, and plasters a serious expression on his face. “That’s it.” 

Lance tackles Keith, grabbing his own pillow as he straddles Keith, who watches the witch above him with amusement--lips puckered, brown hair in disarray, brows furrowed; it’s all adorable. Keith’s back is pressed into the bed, the pillow hovering precariously above his face. “Any last words?” Lance asks. “I thought you would have put up more of a fight, Vampire.”

They both know Keith can easily turn the tide of this war with a mere twist of his body--with, as Lance puts it, his ‘stupid vampire strength.’ Keith grins, lazily blinking. “I’m enjoying the view.”

“Nice try, but your sweet words can’t save you now.”

Lance leaves no room for mercy as he wacks Keith with the pillow until they’ve both dissolved into fits of laughter that leave them incapacitated to do anything further. Keith’s sides hurt even though he isn’t short of breath. 

It’s all so perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was trying to figure out how to get around the fact that Lance and Keith don’t exist in the eyes of any government (ie having no SSN or IDs) but I decided it was best not to touch it lmao; assume Lance can magically conjure up IDs and changes their birth year every decade or so. 
> 
> Also, minor historical detail: Boston legalized same sex marriage on May 17th 2004 so that's why I gave their wedding a specific date while all other sections are defined by just a place and year. 
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos:)

**Author's Note:**

> Not quite ready to let this AU go… any interest in a sequel/second chapter? Let me know!
> 
> Hope you all have a happy and safe Halloween<3
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos:)


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